


You're There

by Sass_Master



Series: Dream of Now [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Dean, Established Relationship, Future Fic, Human Castiel, M/M, Oral Sex, Past Dean/Other(s), Sneaking Around, Top Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-28
Updated: 2015-08-28
Packaged: 2018-04-17 15:43:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4672196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sass_Master/pseuds/Sass_Master
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I know there are things we haven’t done yet,” Cas says carefully, “I know there’s more.”</p>
<p>“Did you, uh,” Dean pauses, licking his lips, “Did you have something in mind?”</p>
<p>“I want to do everything with you,” Cas breathes, cupping Dean’s cheek and leaning in to kiss his waiting mouth. “I want to give you what you want.”</p>
<p>And oh, okay, one thing does spring to mind, if he’s being honest with himself, especially considering the way things normally play out between them, the way Dean was gearing up for Cas’s warm, solid weight pressing him down into the bed sheets. The trouble is, Dean is rarely being honest with himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're There

**Author's Note:**

> This is essentially a sequel to [More Than Ever](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4388972).

It’s been weeks and Dean’s not still totally sure if Sam knows that he and Cas are, y’know, _involved_. Not one hundred percent sure, at least.

Sam hasn’t said anything – not officially. Dean keeps waiting for it with pained anticipation, for the moment when Sam catches him on his own, clears his throat and quirks an eyebrow, opening with a drawn out _So_ and a smirk. It hasn’t come yet. Dean gets nothing more than the occasional inscrutable look, either because Sam’s _actually_ not clued into what’s going on – which seems pretty unlikely, but, well, here they are – or he’s genuinely thrown off by the way that Dean’s stubbornly continuing to act like everything’s the same as it’s always been, nothing out of the ordinary here, nope, no sir. But even if Dean’s not exactly holding Cas’s hand on the table while they eat breakfast with Sam, it’s got to be obvious that something’s changed between them. Whatever picture of feigned indifference that Dean’s trying to pull off is a far cry from the tension and the bickering Sam had to put up with for so long.

But Dean doesn’t _know_ that Sam knows, not with absolute certainty, and that’s enough to keep him maintaining an air of secrecy. If he’s still got the chance to indefinitely delay having a mortifying conversation with his brother about his… _romantic life_ , then he’s damn well going to take it.

The sneaking around is actually sort of fun – for a while. Any novelty is wearing thin at this point, after the three of them have been working back to back hunts, crammed together in tiny motel room after tiny motel room.

The agitation Dean’s fighting through – how _pent up_ he feels – is bordering on ridiculous. He tries to reason it out, approach it calmly, remind himself that he went _years_ without touching Cas before, no matter how badly he wanted to. Considering all the practice he’s had, reining in those urges should be easy.

But it’s different now that he _knows_ , knows exactly what it’s like to be _with_ Cas, and that it’s something he gets to have, if he wants, just… not at the moment.

He finds himself pining for the stupidest things, not just the more obvious activities he and Cas would get up to if they had a room and a bed all to themselves. But he can’t even ask for the simple comforting touch of Cas’s strong fingers stroking his back if he’s too paranoid to _stand_ too close to Cas when Sam’s around.

Sometimes Sam pops out of the room for barely two minutes, just to run to the vending machine, but Dean and Cas take advantage of his absence. They don’t really have time to do much besides hold each other, kiss each other chastely, with restraint so it doesn’t get too heated with no hope of relief in sight, and it’s all embarrassingly sappy and un _believably_ frustrating.

Dean’s starting to worry that out of everything he’s suffered, all the traumatizing shit he’s dealt with, this might be the thing that finally drives him crazy. They don’t really talk about it, but Cas doesn’t seem to be much better off. Dean had thought he’d seen some intense stares directed at him before, but that’s nothing compared to the indescribable longing he sees in Cas’s eyes nowadays. Dean would try to ignore it, for both their sakes, but like an idiot, he only stares back, holds Cas’s gaze and tries not to let his mind wander too far. Cas is unfairly gorgeous, and Dean knows that even more intimately now. Before, when Dean found Cas unbearably attractive he’d just mentally brush off the fact that he even noticed. But he can fully admit now, at least to himself, that he most _definitely_ notices, and now he has to pretend that he doesn’t care, that he’s not going to do anything about it, will keep his hands to himself even though it honest to god _pains_ him to do it.

And yeah, he knows this could all be resolved if he just made sure, once and for all, that it was out in the open with Sam, that he and Cas are… are a _thing_. It’s not like they’d start _making out_ right in front of Sam, but Dean could at least let his fingers graze Cas’s hand, allow Cas to rest his palm affectionately on his shoulder, lean into Cas’s touch the way he wants, instead of enforcing a yard of safe space between them at all times.

But he just – he’s never even talked to Sam about how, okay, so, maybe he likes guys the same way he likes girls because of _course_ he’s never talked about it. And sure, Cas is so much more than just a ‘guy,’ but that’s still way more than Dean’s ever addressed out loud. It’s just… a _lot_.

He just can’t yet, and Cas is patient and understanding and doesn’t push him, doesn’t take offense and keeps up the charade, keeps it as discreet as possible, no matter how blindingly obvious his thoughts may be when he looks at Dean.

By the time the three of them are finally on the interstate heading home, it’s clear that maintaining secrecy in these conditions is weighing on both of them. Dean’s praying to whatever deity will listen that nothing pops up on their radar between here and Kansas, that they get some much-needed downtime.

It’s a fucking miserable muggy evening that finally culminates into one hell of a downpour. They pull into a rest stop to escape the rain, at least for the time being, and grab some food while they’re at it. They’ve barely said two words to each other for the past few hours.

Sam volunteers to wait in line for burgers while Cas and Dean visit the men’s room. It starts out legitimate (they do actually use the facilities) but as they’re washing their hands, the thick, tense silence grows suffocating when their eyes meet in the mirror. That leads to Cas palming Dean’s hip – they are, by some miracle, completely alone – and leaving damp fingerprints on his shirt, drawing him in and kissing him on the mouth. It’s suddenly urgent, and Dean’s fisting a hand in Cas’s jacket and pulling him into a stall. Cas wastes no time in locking the door behind them and shoving Dean against the flimsy divider, and by the time they’ve gotten each other’s pants undone Cas has to clap his hand over Dean’s mouth to keep him quiet. Dean hears footsteps come in and out a couple of times, and shit, he didn’t know this kind of thing did it for him, and he doesn’t _really_ want to get caught, but the threat of it drives him to the finish line sooner than expected, Cas following shortly after. That’s probably a good thing – it’s already been a suspiciously long absence that gets even longer when they have to wipe their shirts down and stick them awkwardly under the hand-dryer to look even half-way decent.

Sam’s already found a table when they join him, a minute or so apart, as if that seems any less questionable. Sam’s face doesn’t give anything away. If anything he looks _too_ impassive, expression perfectly neutral. Dean can’t analyze that for too long without freaking out, so he tells himself it’s nothing and tries not to look completely guilty when he averts his eyes. Sam doesn’t seem too interested in meeting anyone’s else’s eyes either.

Cas keeps his hand on Dean’s thigh, hidden under the table. Until a few minutes ago it would have been an excruciating tease, but it’s comforting now, edge taken off for the moment, even if it was barely enough, not even close to what Dean really wants.

They try to keep things quiet at the bunker, too, but it’s somehow worse there, more temptations when they’re relaxed and have more free time, aren’t confined to a single tiny room with Sam. Dean still doesn’t let his eyes linger on Cas’s stubbled jaw, doesn’t gently touch Cas’s bicep when he hands Dean a cup of coffee, won’t even indulge in a quick kiss in the library unless he knows Sam’s at least an entire floor away.

It’s a minor miracle they haven’t been caught sneaking in and out of each other’s rooms. They don’t spend the night together unless Sam’s not around. Dean’s not brave enough to risk it. He can still use _one hand_ to count the times he’s fallen asleep in Cas’s arms and it fucking _sucks_. The only thing better than drifting off in Cas’s embrace is waking up beside him in the morning. That’s so disgustingly sentimental he’s embarrassed for even thinking it, but he might honestly be starting to lose it here. Not to mention he’s really only got himself to blame for the whole uncomfortable situation.

And if Dean didn’t know any better, he’d swear that Sam’s finding excuses to head out by himself for a couple of hours. It’s not like he never leaves to do anything on his own, never gets sick of Dean being Dean and needs some space, but sometimes his reasons seem flimsy at best.

But if Sam decides to make the half-hour trek to Target even though the Wal-Mart’s ten minutes away and all they really need is paper towels, and that gets Dean some quality time alone with Cas, he’s not about to say anything. Especially if Sam’s doing it deliberately, and calling him out on it could lead to the exact conversation Dean’s been so stubbornly trying to avoid.

They’re barely home for a couple of days before they catch wind of a new job, but it sounds like a sure thing and a serious one at that, so they’re on it. Everyone’s still mostly packed from the last hunt, but some of their more vital stocks are mostly depleted. Sam’s the one who offers to make a supply run.

While Sam’s gone Cas and Dean make use of their time predictably. They’ve got a couple of hours, so they’re lazily making out on Dean’s bed, right in the middle of the goddamn afternoon, no intention of keeping it down. They’re still lying down on their sides – Cas hasn’t made a move to pin Dean to the mattress yet but Dean’s anticipating it, has half a mind to just roll onto his back and pull Cas on top of him already.

Moments like this have been brief, so things are still new and – Dean quietly admits to himself – unbelievably _exciting_ between them. There’s exploring left to do, and not having Sam ‘officially’ clued in gives Dean more freedom to do that, to figure out this whole… _thing_ without an audience, without anyone bearing witness to just how exhilarating and terrifying this is for him, and how he’s not used to or good at it yet.

When it comes to the physical stuff, well, there are… some _lines_ that they haven’t crossed. Whether they’ve been hindered by the circumstances or by something else – something else which would probably be because of Dean – he can’t exactly say.

It’s not that it hasn’t crossed Dean’s mind, doesn’t cross his mind every time Cas is shoving him against the nearest piece of furniture, that there’s _more_ they could be doing. But he doesn’t know how to bring up something like that. It’s never been a goddamn issue before. It doesn’t matter, anyway, because Cas ends up beating to the punch.

“Sometimes I wish I could get _closer_ to you,” he murmurs against Dean’s jaw, punctuates his statement with a kiss to the shell of Dean’s ear.

Dean doesn’t know if that’s just a frivolous comment, the kind of heated, overly sincere pillow talk he’s come to expect from Cas, or if he’s trying to make a point, if he’s _getting at something here_. But he sighs _yeah_ in agreement, sort of half-listening. Just the sound of Cas’s voice puts heat in his belly. He’s drunk on Cas’s hands all over him, sneaking up the back of his shirt, and he’s so _hard_ but there’s no real urgency. For now, it’s just a pleasant reminder that Cas is going to take real good care of him, even if it’s a while before they get there. They’ve already been at it for quite some time, still mostly dressed and taking it oh so slowly. Dean’s mostly used to rushing with Cas, out of necessity, but now they have options, and Cas has taken the reins and slowed the pace, is leisurely in his touches. It’s driving Dean insane in the best possible way – it’s not urgent _yet_ but Dean’s already wondering how long Cas could draw this out before he drives Dean to begging.

Maybe it was just a trivial statement at first, but as Cas’s comment hangs in the air Dean sees the shift in Cas’s demeanor when he catches Dean’s eye, how that offhand remark is turning into a plan, a goal, a _mission_. Cas actually stops his ministrations, pulls away slightly, and that finally gets Dean’s attention for real, shakes him out of that pleasant haze just a little bit, mind clearing and focusing on Cas’s thoughtful expression.

“I know there are things we haven’t done yet,” Cas says carefully, watching Dean, “I know there’s more.”

They’ve expanded their _repertoire_ a little bit, when they’ve got the time and the opportunity, but it’s clear, at least to Dean, what they’ve just fallen short of doing, because there are moments when he absolutely can’t stop thinking about it – that next step, _more_.

“Did you, uh,” Dean pauses, licking his lips reflexively, “Did you have something in mind?”

“I want to do everything with you,” Cas breathes, cupping Dean’s cheek and leaning in to kiss his waiting mouth. Dean’s heart skips a beat, wondering what Cas is imagining when he says that. “I want to give you what you want.”

Coming from anyone else, that’d be total bullshit, complete lip service, but this is Cas. That is sincerely what he wants – his desire is to fulfill Dean’s. If only Dean were better at putting his desires into words.

“You know more about these things than I do,” Cas concedes. That’s true, at least for hands-on experience. As far as theoretical knowledge goes, Cas is clued into way more than Dean usually gives him credit for, and he’s damn sure Cas has been doing his fair share of research to fill in whatever gaps he has in his understanding. Though whether his sources are internet porn or honest to god _scholarly articles_ , Dean can’t really be sure.

Cas is looking at him expectantly. He’s usually content to forge fearlessly ahead and see what embarrassing noises he can get Dean to make. It’s the first time Cas has really deferred to him for direction in these situations, and honestly, it throws Dean off a little. He’s suddenly realizing how spoiled he’s gotten, the way Cas lavishes him with so much attention.

Dean swallows, unexpectedly nervous. “So, you mean, you want to, uh,” he trails off, makes some kind of incomprehensible gesture and gazes significantly into Cas’s eyes, wants to see the that they’re on the same page about what _more_ entails. Dean recognizes the understanding in the way Cas looks at him. They both know what they’re talking about.

Cas is still periodically kissing Dean’s neck, pressing in close and letting Dean feel how hard he his. “If you want to,” he says quietly, thumb tracing Dean’s cheekbone.

And okay, yeah, Dean’s definitely thought about taking things with Cas ‘to the next level’ but he’s not sure what Cas is offering, or asking for, or— “ _Yeah_ ,”he says in a rush, because he may be a little uncertain, but shit, like he’s going to say no to _more sex with Cas_. “Yeah, I’m on board with that,” A heavy silence settles in, and Dean’s nerves flare up again when he thinks about what he’s going to say next. “Um, how do you want to…?” He can only trail off, praying yet again that Cas gets it.

It feels absurd when he hears it out loud like that. They usually just fall into things naturally, and he’s well aware that, even though they haven’t been doing this for very long, they have a _ridiculously_ good track record so far – it only makes sense that they’d eventually run into a little awkwardness.

And again, that’s all Dean. Cas doesn’t get awkward about sex. Dean usually doesn’t either, but maybe it’s never _mattered_ this much before. This thing with Cas is… well, it’s a big deal. The stakes are so much higher now, he can’t – won’t – just cut and run after it’s over, if it’s disappointing or _embarrassing_ or fucking mind-blowing in ways he’s not entirely ready to process.

Cas’s fingers haven’t stopped gently tracing up and down Dean’s back, and he attempts to relax into it. Cas has the ghost of a smile on his face. “I’ve never tried it before. I don’t know if I have a preference.” Yeah, sure, makes sense. “What do you want?”

Dean comes up short for a moment. He’s not really sure what kind of answer he was expecting from Cas. He tells himself he wasn’t hoping for anything in particular. He knows what Cas is getting at, that he’s up for whatever as always, willing to do this in whichever way makes Dean happy. Cas’s eagerness to put Dean’s pleasure first has been working out pretty damn awesome so far, but that’s been more about Cas taking over and directing all this efforts towards Dean, trying to figure out what makes him whimper, what makes him squirm, cataloguing it all for future use. Dean’s coming around to the fact that it’s not self-sacrificing dedication on Cas’s part, that’s just what he wants to do, that’s what _does it for him_ , and goddamn if that doesn’t turn Dean on too.

But now he’s holding back and looking for direction, asking Dean how should we go forward? _What do you want?_

And _oh_ , oh, okay, yeah, one thing does spring to mind, if he’s being honest with himself, especially considering the way things normally play out between them, the way Dean was gearing up for Cas’s warm, solid weight pressing him down into the bed sheets. The trouble is, Dean is rarely being honest with himself. And that’s half the reason Dean’s so enthusiastic about Cas’s ‘hands on’ approach – he doesn’t have to _talk_ about these things. Doing them, in the heat of the moment, content to let Cas explore, is one thing. Sitting down and talking about them – actually _asking_ for the things he can’t fully admit even to himself that he wants – is something else entirely.

Dean’s doesn’t know how long he’s been lost in his own head while Cas looks at him expectantly. He clears his throat. “Well, um, I mean, I should, I should probably, y’know—” he stops and clears his throat again, “The first time. To, uh. To show you how.”

There’s a moment where Cas just gives him a look, as if he’s thinking exactly what Dean is thinking – he didn’t ask Dean what they _should_ do, he asked what Dean _wanted_. He raises an imperious eyebrow, looking vaguely amused. “I wasn’t under the impression that it was very complicated.”

“Yeah, but,” – He doesn’t have to fight this so hard, he could take the opportunity to say _oh yeah well if you know so much about it why don’t you prove it_ but he just won’t fucking let himself – “You wanna do it _right_ ,” he says with a wavering grin, trying to paste on this false bravado that he’s relied on so many times in the past, but he’s _never_ tried to pull with Cas before.

Cas seems to consider that last part seriously. “Show me then,” after kissing Dean deeply, “Show me how to make it good for you.”

Those words, that admission that Cas is already thinking ahead to when he’ll get to do this for Dean, stretch him open and slide inside, almost jolt Dean into honesty. Now he’s thinking about it too and he can’t stop, wants it _right now_ , he—He could talk Cas through it, couldn’t he? Cas was right, it’s not exactly rocket science, not to mention Cas is a blisteringly fast learner, especially when properly motivated. And nothing motivates him like getting Dean off.

But Dean can’t— He can’t _ask_ for that. He just… he _can’t_. So he proceeds with things as discussed. That feels like the safe thing to do.

Cas goes along with it agreeably as he always does if he thinks it’ll make Dean happy. It’s not that Cas is entirely uninterested in his own enjoyment – he certainly takes pleasure in orgasm, in Dean’s hands and mouth, in the sight of his come smeared on Dean’s skin – but it’s clearly not what really drives him. He just loves touching Dean, making him feel good. It’s overwhelming, close to more than Dean can handle sometimes, but it’s so damn _nice_ too, that much Dean can actually admit. For now Cas just smiles and kisses Dean and lets him take the lead – it’s not like he’s got any weird hang-ups over this shit the way Dean does.

Truthfully, Dean’s not really an expert at this either. He’s done this, like, _once_ when he was still young enough that anything involving his dick and another person seemed like the greatest thing in the known goddamn universe, even through the haze of guilt and shame and butterflies over _holy shit I’m kissing a dude right now._

He’s never felt this kind of pressure before with Cas – and it’s not Cas’s fault on any level. He knows Cas isn’t judging him, not even close. It’s not as though Dean’s never been responsible for ‘driving the show’ in his lifetime, but Cas had gravitated so naturally to taking charge and Dean had been surprisingly (maybe not that surprisingly) fucking _eager_ to let him. Having things the other way around is messing with his head a little, seeing Cas waiting patiently, quietly observing instead of surging forward and taking over, seeing what sounds he can wring out of Dean like it’s the best goddamn game he’s ever played, determining how quickly he can reduce Dean to a writhing mess.

He has Cas turn over cause it’s easier, or whatever (at least that’s what he was told, the first time). Even then Cas takes charge in his own way, works towards getting himself off with firm strokes on his cock before Dean even gets the chance to, twisting around so he can press his mouth to Dean’s, nipping sharply at his lower lip. Then he’s got his fingers wound tight in Dean’s hair, sucking a mark into his jaw, rumbling, “Are you close?” and Dean’s suddenly wishing he’d exert that control even further, flip Dean over and push him down into the mattress instead, or, or—

It’s those wandering thoughts that get him off, gasping against Cas’s rough cheek. Cas is usually determined to get Dean to finish first and tonight’s no exception. Dean only gives himself a moment to recover before he’s urging Cas onto his back and sliding down between his well-muscled thighs. Cas’s fingers are already back in his hair before he’s fully taken Cas’s cock into his mouth, relishing the weight and taste of him. Cas is so _hard_ and it doesn’t take much before he’s spilling onto Dean’s tongue and Dean’s humming in satisfaction right along with him.

And the whole thing is good, of course it is. It’s always that way, just being close to Cas, being able to touch him, feel his muscles and smooth skin, kiss his inviting mouth. It was pretty unlikely that it wouldn’t be at least, you know, _adequate_. Cas seems to like it okay, and he smiles at Dean afterwards, kisses him softly like he always does.

But when Cas draws him in and cradles him close, lets Dean press his face against his chest and gently strokes his hair, Dean can’t shake an underlying feeling of disappointment. Not at what they just did, not necessarily, but at _himself_ , squandering blatant invitations all over again, running in the opposite direction. He feels an acute sense of loss, like he missed an opportunity – there was Cas, willing to give him whatever he desired, no judgment, no questions, no hesitation, and he _still_ couldn’t ask for it, ask for what he’s gradually acknowledging that he really wants. Unfortunately, his secret, begrudging internal acceptance of his own feelings doesn’t change a whole lot in actual reality.

The hunt they’re preparing for turns out to be simpler than expected, all things considered, even though it’s a bit of a hike. But it leads right into another job, and another after that – additional weeks of the three of them stuffed into a run-down motel room and Cas and Dean trying to keep their hands to themselves. Dean knows he could put himself out of his misery if he just sucked it up and booked a second room, but then it’d all be out in the open, and he’s just not there yet – though he might be soon, out of sheer _longing_ rather than any kind of emotional maturity.  He and Cas have to content themselves with rushed handjobs when Sam runs out to pick up dinner, or fumbling in the backseat of the Impala between witness interviews while Sam’s waiting for a ride back from the library. There’s no time or privacy for... anything _else_ , and they don’t talk about it, either.

There’s not a lot of talking at all, really, especially on the road. Mile after silent mile on the freeway leaves entirely too much space for thinking, so on top of existing frustrations, Dean _dwells_ , picks at his layers of shame and desire and denial, sees how deep they go.

It’s not as if Dean was born really _knowing_ that he might sort of be into guys, let alone addressing it, understanding it, _acting on it_. Dean and his less ‘expected’ inclinations have never played together particularly well, not with the way he was raised.

The thrill of it was fucking _terrifying_ , the first time, knowing that he was touching another guy, kissing him the way he’d only ever done with girls. He’d been pretending for so long, that all those stray thoughts didn’t mean a damn thing, that his eyes didn’t linger, that casual banter with certain men was just friendly, mutual admiration. That he wasn’t curious, or interested, or remotely at risk of following through with any fleeting feeling that could be labelled as attraction. That sort of flew out the window when he actually had an offer.

And yeah, maybe he knew more than he cared to admit about what two guys could get up to together, but hey, when you’ve got pay-per-view, a stolen credit card and a motel room to yourself, you get a little experimental. Maybe even a few times. He knew what kind of stuff was on the table, and he’d been mentally outlining his limits, not so much what he didn’t want to do but what he wouldn’t _allow_ himself to do. There was— there was no way he was letting this guy _fuck_ him, for starters. Going home with a guy was one thing but that was just—no. He couldn’t do that. Not that he wanted to, anyway. Even if the feeling of a muscular body holding him down was having an effect on him that he didn’t totally expect and wasn’t remotely equipped to deal with.

But that didn’t mean he was up for some guy’s _dick in his ass_ , or ever would be, and he was lucky enough that the guy was far more interested in having things the other way around. It was a relief to know the whole encounter probably wouldn’t be too much for him, then, that he’d be able to see it through, because if he wussed out at that moment he wasn’t sure he’d ever have the balls to try it again. And by that point he finally _knew_ he’d be missing out on something, had been missing out this entire time, once he’d felt someone else’s stubble scraping his own, broad shoulders under his sweating palms, a distracting hardness pushing against him.

And the guy had really _wanted_ it, had practically demanded it, seemed so fucking into it that Dean was immediately more intrigued than he’d ever admit about switching places. Suddenly he felt like he was missing out, like he got the raw side of the deal, and he wanted to _know_ with an urgency that freaked him out, even after they were both spent and he couldn’t chalk those thoughts up to the heat of the moment.

But he wasn’t about to _ask_ to find out. Besides, sticking around wasn’t his MO anyway, never could be, just because of the circumstances, and he put the whole thing behind him as soon as he was back on the road.

It turned out he hadn’t gotten the whole fooling around with guys thing out of his system. But that still didn’t have to _mean_ anything – sometimes you just wanted something a little, you know, different every once in a while. And when a stranger with a nice smile and thick arms approached him at a bar, Dean let the guy buy him a drink and spend the next hour chatting him up, making him laugh, making him blush. When he finally leaned in and confessed that he wanted to _take Dean home and fuck him_ Dean swore his heart was about to beat out of his chest. Even though a voice in his head that sounded eerily like his father’s told him _no_ , _no fuckin’ way_ he was too overtaken by lust and curiosity to really listen to it. He wanted to know what all the fuss was about.

That man _showed_ him what all the fuss was about, had Dean coming all over the sheets in an embarrassingly short amount of time, gasping and clutching the pillow, left him shaking with pleasure and the realization that his perception of himself had irrevocably shifted. Dean even spent the night and the guy made him _breakfast_ in the morning, the offer to go back to bed leading to Dean spending the whole weekend, thoroughly taken apart by this near-stranger’s rough hands and gentle voice. It had honestly been hard to leave. But once his dad called, demanding to know where he was, he’d been back in his car before he knew it, convincing himself it was a fluke, a one (two, _three_ ) time thing.

And he almost believed that right up until the next time he wandered into some roadside dive of questionable repute, locked eyes with a scruffy stranger who pushed him satisfyingly against the tiles in the men’s room and asked Dean to turn around for him. Not exactly a _fluke_ , then, but not something he could actually ask for, just… just something he’d take if he could get it, still maintaining a steadfast front of indifference. He’d act totally uninterested or brush it off with a joke – with the whole _maybe into dudes_ thing in general, really – if anyone asked. Unless, of course, they were _offering_.

And when he was young, an offer was not hard to come by. Not that it was something he did a _lot,_ just enough to realize that it was… kinda fuckin’ _awesome_ , but even now that’s something he can’t just come out and say. It was okay to do that kind of thing as long as he never, _ever_ talked about it, especially not about how much he liked it.

After that, it wasn’t long before his dad disappeared and Dean took off to find Sam at Stanford. Any ‘experimental encounters’ – he was still harboring some distant belief that the whole thing was just a phase – were few and far between from that point. He lost his nerve for it with Sam around all the time. He got older, life got more complicated, and he pushed that side of himself even deeper.

One night when Dean was flying solo there was a guy at a bar who seemed interested, but by the time they were in the back seat of the guy’s car it was obvious he’d taken one look at Dean’s build, the combat boots, the ‘macho’ swagger and made assumptions about who’d be doing what. And it was _stupid_ , so stupid, but Dean couldn’t help but feel let down by that – it wasn’t like he picked up men all that often, hadn’t done it in _years_ , and he was suddenly forced to face the fact that that wasn’t what he’d been hoping to get out of his current moment of bravery. If he— if that was what he wanted he’d have gone home with the cute waitress instead. She’d already been dropping unsubtle hints about what time her shift ended, no doubt encouraged by the way Dean was flirting with her before he noticed the guy eyeing him across the bar.

Dean realized wasn’t going to get what he wanted unless he made a point to say something, to steer things in that direction himself, but he _couldn’t_ , and he couldn’t deal with the shame he felt over how badly he craved it either. Suddenly he wasn’t so into it anymore, settled for half-heartedly sucking each other off and calling it a night.

He’d sort of given up on hoping to get what he was _really_ after, especially because he shouldn’t have wanted it so fucking badly in the first place. Dean’s never really been shy about sex, exactly, but there’s always been a line – one he’s drawn himself – of the things that it’s okay for him to like and the things he’d probably be better off keeping to himself. It’s pretty obvious which side _being pushed down and fucked_ falls on.

It’s been a long time since he’s thought about all this in any level of detail, but with the way things are going with Cas, it’s back on the forefront of his mind. But even after all these years, he doesn’t feel any more capable of sorting through his issues over this kind of shit. Not on his own, anyway.

After the latest hunts have been wrapped up, they’re a few days deep into some well-earned downtime. Dean’s so fucking glad to be home, but Sam’s still _here_ and Cas and Dean are still trying to sneak around, slip in and out of each other’s beds as discreetly as possible or, often enough, not even daring to at all. As soon as Sam steps out for a second they continue to take advantage of the solitude in incredibly unsurprising ways. Dean’s not about to apologize for that. Rushed encounters like that scratch the itch but they aren’t _enough_ , for so many reasons, aren’t really what Dean’s longing for.

It was a long time before Dean had actually let himself about fantasize about being with Cas, and when he finally did it was kind of a blur – he didn’t know where to _start_ , didn’t know what Cas would be like. He knows _now_ , though, and the fantasies have gotten that much clearer, more graphic and focused. They feel so much sharper and real and attainable, especially when Cas has Dean pinned to the mattress, firm body a satisfying and arousing weight on top of him, intently staring into his eyes.

The longer Dean thinks about it, the more he’s fucking sick with how bad he wants it, wants Cas inside of him, holding him down – or just _holding_ him, period. He can’t wrap his brain around the fact that that might be something he actually gets to have, on a regular basis, on his terms. He can have it because he’s with someone who _knows_ him, on a level that’s both comforting and almost alarming, not because he’s nervously making eyes at a stranger in a seedy bar and hoping for the best.

Provided he ever makes it clear what he’s hoping for. He’s still working on that part. Cas likes figuring Dean out and he usually has an easy time understanding what Dean likes once it’s happening. But that doesn’t mean he inherently knows what Dean wants to try – he can’t _actually_ read Dean’s mind – or which things they haven’t done yet that Dean’s anticipating the most. And there’s probably only so far that Cas is willing to go just blithely assuming, forging ahead and seeing what sticks, considering he values Dean’s comfort – physical _and_ emotional.

The upside about Cas definitely _not_ being a one-night stand is there will be more chances. More chances for Cas to explore, more opportunities for Dean to get his head out of his ass and talk about his desires like a goddamn mature adult.

Sam’s already been gone for most of the day and won’t be back until the following afternoon. Sometimes when they get moments like these – when there’s real _time_ – they don’t start pawing at each other the second Sam drives out of view. They dance around it for a little while just because they can, manage to restrain themselves until the evening, going about the rest of the day like the whole situation is more normal than it actually is. More waiting should be _agony_ after the past few weeks, and it is, but the guaranteed promise of satisfaction is worth the torture – being able to fall asleep together afterwards is a more enticing thought than Dean cares to admit.

It’s already getting late, and they’re sort of half-watching television together on the couch.

“What did Sam say he was doing, again?” Cas asks during a commercial.

Dean shrugs. “Something about one of his contacts and an artifacts dealer. Said he wanted to see if there was anything useful we could snag. Or anything cursed that’s in need of yknow, _disposal_. More likely scenario, if you ask me – that or complete junk.”

Cas hums in agreement, turning to face Dean more fully, reaching up and cupping the side of Dean’s neck. He leans in and kisses Dean, slow and thorough. “And he won’t be back until tomorrow?” That’s as close to dropping a hint as Cas ever gets. Cas knows damn well Sam won’t be here for the rest of the night.

Dean smirks. “Could be longer, if he gets cursed.”

Cas smiles too, playing along. “That’s the risk he takes, going off on his own like that.” Cas is eyeing his mouth with unconcealed interest, but that last comment rekindles Dean’s paranoia about Sam’s conveniently timed absences.

Cas is moving closer, but Dean interrupts him. “Does Sam know about us?” He tries not to sound accusatory, but he’s started to realize that just because he can’t bring himself to talk to Sam, doesn’t mean Cas can’t. It’s become an especially persistent fear of his, that the two of them are whispering behind his back about poor emotionally stunted Dean while they freely talk about their _feelings_ like they’re so freakin’ well-adjusted.

And maybe he’s trying to deflect from what’s really weighing on his mind, how the anticipation suddenly is making his heart beat nervously, remembering how they spend their last extended stretch of alone time.

The look of genuine bewilderment on Cas’s face is already a relief on the first count. “I don’t know. I haven’t discussed that with him.” He pauses, raising an eyebrow. “Though I thought _you_ might have, by now.”

Dean shoots him a look. Cas should be well aware of how likely that was to happen.

Cas rolls his eyes at Dean’s glare and considers for a moment. “If I were to guess, I would say there’s a strong chance that he knows. Sam is very perceptive, and we aren’t… _subtle_ particularly.”

Shit, is that how Cas sees it? Dean honestly thought they’d been doing pretty well being sneaky, but maybe he’d been lying to himself to make himself feel better. Wouldn’t be the first time.

Panic must be materializing on Dean’s face, because Cas clears his throat. “Is that really what you want to talk about right now?” he asks, staring at Dean’s mouth again, thumb caressing the line of his jaw.

No, no, Dean definitely is not in the mood to talk about whether or not his brother is privy to their sex life right now. He’s not in the mood to _talk_ about anything.

Then they’re making out on the sofa cushions, Cas pressing Dean down and grinding against him until Dean’s fucking _throbbing_ in his jeans. Cas is no better off, finally heaves Dean off the couch and steers them both to Dean’s bedroom. Cas’s hands never leave him, and Dean doesn’t know how he ever lived without this, Cas touching him with such tenderness and surety.

They undress each other in no particular hurry, but they’re too impassioned to go too slowly either. Cas drinks him in with the usual enthusiasm and reverence and bears him down into the soft blankets until he’s comfortably settled between Dean’s thighs. Dean’s warm and pliant beneath him, arching into every touch, every swipe of Cas’s tongue, every scrape of his stubble on Dean’s sensitive skin, and he _wants_ so badly that he tries to just get over himself and _say_ something, is struggling to figure out how to form the fucking words but he just—

“Wait, I,” he breathes, needs Cas to stop for a second so he can think straight. Cas stills immediately, pulls back and regards him expectantly. “I—uh.” He falters, his brief moment of bravery abandoning him. Fuck, maybe he can’t do this, but goddammit he had to _try_.

Cas tilts his head just slightly, confused but not impatient, gently caressing Dean’s cheek. “Do you want to stop?”

“ _No_ , god, that’s not—” He stops talking as hastily as he started, can’t bring himself to go any further.

Cas gives him an assessing look, but seems to let it go when he realizes he’s not getting any more of an explanation out of Dean. “Should I keep going?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, licking his lips, tacks on a, “Please,” just to be polite but it comes out like desperation, like he’s begging, and maybe that’s not so far off from the truth.

He’s still agonizing over his own cowardice as he feels Cas’s mouth sucking marks into his neck, as he travels lower and his teeth graze Dean’s nipples. He tells himself a hundred times what an idiot he’s being, in a hundred different ways, and it’s not fucking helping.

Cas’s fingers stroking his cock drive those thoughts from his head for just moment, but then they’re moving on, wandering to his thigh, tracing up and further back. Dean can’t quite stifle a curse as they tentatively stroke the tender flesh – _oh god oh Jesus fuck_ – bucks his hips forward even as he pushes away from the pure, exhilarating _shock_ of it, can’t even remember the last time anyone touched him there like that.

Cas just traces the tips of his fingers back and forth where Dean’s tight and _sensitive_ , doesn’t try to go further but it’s patently obvious that he’s thinking about it. “Can I?” he murmurs between kisses to Dean’s flushed face.

Dean’s sense of relief is so acute, so palpable that it’s a wonder he doesn’t actually melt straight through the bedding. He thinks _yes, god, fuck_ so quickly that he’s instantly embarrassed by it, has to pause and dial it back.

It’s so much easier for him this way, to not have to ask but to just take the offer when it’s given, and Cas – Cas has already figured that out, of course he has, that Dean needs coaxing to open up about his desires, especially the ones he thinks he’s not supposed to or allowed to have. Cas doesn’t mind meeting Dean halfway, focusing on his needs, and Dean’s starting to understand that he’s better off willingly putting himself into Cas’s hands instead of feeling guilt and self-loathing over needing to be handled with care, feeling shame for _wanting_ things.

He hopes Cas doesn’t mistake his reticence – his _blushing_ – for reluctance, for disinterest or disgust. It’s not that he’s nervous, exactly, he’s just so fucking _excited_ for it, to feel Cas holding him tight and stretching him open, and he’s attempting to play it cool, ashamed at his eagerness but trying not to be. He’s fighting so hard to cover up how he really feels that if he’s not careful he’s not going to get what he wants at all, and goddammit, that’s just his _way_ isn’t it.

So he forces himself to use his words for once in his fucking life, say, “Yeah, Cas,” as fervently as he feels it, even if his voice shakes, just so he’s perfectly clear, so Cas doesn’t think he needs to back off. “I want that. Want you.”

And he can tell that Cas is most definitely not doing this _entirely_ for Dean’s benefit. He can see the heat in Cas’s eyes when he swoops in to kiss Dean again, both tender and filthy, and promptly reaches for the nightstand drawer. The knowledge that Cas wants _him_ , is eager for it too, relaxes him further as much as it works him up.

Cas is the picture of confidence as he slicks his fingers, presses one finger between Dean’s legs again and circles teasingly, gently starts to push inside.

“I was paying attention last time,” Cas says with the barest hint of a smirk. Dean’s sure that Cas is poking fun at him, that whatever Cas has learned about this came from his own initiative and curiosity, not from any of Dean’s ‘expertise.’ “I want to make it good for you,” he adds, voice already dipping into a growl, and that, Dean knows, is unequivocally sincere.

Cas works his hand in and out with slow, deliberate thrusts, crooks his finger experimentally. An expression of pride and satisfaction, of untempered lust, appears on his face when the pad of his finger brushes Dean’s prostate, earning him a surprised moan. Cas looks unfairly good like that – Dean can’t even believe how fucking _gorgeous_ he is, methodically taking Dean apart, gazing down at him with open affection and overwhelming, intense focus.

Dean’s writhing with impatience by the time Cas has three fingers inside him, feels achingly full already but it’s still not quite enough. Then Cas withdraws his hand and Dean nearly whines at the loss, but he’s got _more_ to look forward to, he realizes, eyeing Cas’s cock with appreciation and a touch of nervousness.

For a few long moments Cas doesn’t do anything, just hovers over Dean, watching him, carding his clean fingers through Dean’s hair.

Dean clears his throat to break the silence. “Uh, should I…?” He doesn’t even really finish his thought, just starts to turn over instead but Cas stops him, actually pushes him back down with a hand to his chest and _fuck_ if that doesn’t make Dean even harder.

“Stay like this,” Cas says, as if that gesture weren’t clear enough. Cas usually wants to look at him, not just see his face slack from pleasure, but gaze into Dean’s eyes while he takes him apart. Any traces of playfulness are gone now – he looks serious, so determined, so _devoted_ that it almost hurts for Dean to meet his eyes.

The stillness stretches on and Dean murmurs, “ _Cas_ ,” just to distract himself from the pounding in his chest.

“You’re so beautiful,” Cas says, sounding awed, and Dean thinks his heart might hammer clear through his ribcage.

“Don’t—” he says haltingly, fighting to ignore his burning cheeks, “You don’t say stuff like that to a guy.”

Cas tilts his head again, slightly thrown off but not dissuaded. “Why not?” he says firmly, “You are. Dean, you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

Dean squeezes his eyes closed, wrestling with the fact that there’s no arguing with Cas and the fact that Dean doesn’t even _want_ to argue, not really, wants to let Cas’s praise and adoration wash over him, fill in all the spaces normally occupied by fear and self-hatred.

He opens his eyes and brazenly wraps his legs around Cas’s waist, ready to work past that unexpected rush of emotion because it’s _too much_ and he just can’t. “ _Cas,_ ” he says again, trying to move things along, “C’mon, just—”

Cas gets the hint, thankfully, slicks his cock while Dean watches with rapt attention, lines himself up. Dean’s so keyed up he might actually be trembling, hips rolling forward to meet Cas halfway as he finally starts to slide inside him.

The initial push burns, and doesn’t stop, but Cas takes his time. Dean can tell Cas’s gaze is intently trained on his face, even though his own eyes are pinched shut again, breathing shallow, fingers digging into Cas’s solidly muscled shoulders.

Dean makes a pathetic sound when Cas is fully seated, pressed in as close, as deep as he’s going to get like this, utters a strained, “Oh, _fuck_ ,” that comes out much louder than intended.

“Dean?” Cas asks, concern audible in his voice.

Dean takes few shallow breaths, huffs out half a weak laugh. “Been a while since I’ve done this,” he admits in a rush, grits it out through clenched teeth. He’d forgotten how fucking _intense_ this is, and he shifts and hisses at the feeling of Cas’s cock stretching him full.

“Should we stop?” Cas asks carefully. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Dean wants to reassure him and say that it doesn’t hurt, although it does, a little bit, but it’s so much more than that that the pain isn’t really important, just adds to the whole experience, leaves him feeling so exquisitely overwhelmed. The thought of Cas stopping now is unbearable, spurs him into spitting the truth out, opening his eyes and meeting Cas’s gaze directly. “No, don’t, it’s— It’s so _good_ , Cas, it’s so good.” He cuts himself off before he starts babbling.

Cas still watches Dean closely, kisses his jaw, his neck, strokes a soothing hand up and down his side and gives him a moment to adjust. His own hips are twitching restlessly, probably so tempted by Dean tight all around him, but he holds himself still until Dean’s ready.

Dean takes a few deep, steadying breaths, any lingering pain giving way to steadily increasing pleasure, wraps his arms and legs around Cas more securely to ground himself. He gives a subtle, minute roll of his hips – Cas gasps and instinctively pushes back against it and Dean answers with a strangled, “Yeah, c’mon, you can— _yeah_ ,” whimpering helplessly when Cas gives him a proper thrust. He whispers encouragement, like Cas really needs it, but he seems to like the reassurance that he’s making Dean feel good, is bolstered by it, grows more confident with each second until Dean’s coaxing turns into begging before long.

Cas fucks him deep and slow and thorough, experimentally shifts and adjusts, looking for a good angle, and does _not_ let up once he finds it. Dean can’t control the sounds that are coming out of his mouth anymore.

Still Cas is being so gentle, gazes down at Dean with focus and tenderness in his eyes, and maybe some stronger emotions that Dean’s unwilling to name. Dean wants to urge him to go faster, to give him more, but he can’t quite manage the words, can only moan Cas’s name and clutch him tighter, push back shamelessly against him.

The few other times Dean’s done this, it’d never been in a situation where actual _feelings_ were involved, at least not feelings he was willing or able to pursue. He’d really been getting off on the physical sensations, on the taboo of it – the fact that it was kind of dirty and thrilling and _wrong_. Some of that might still apply but there’s not a goddamn thing that feels wrong about this. This is _Cas_ and it’s about how safe Dean feels, how cared for, the fucking look he sees in Cas’s eyes as he threads his fingers through Dean’s hair, softly kisses his mouth, his cheeks, his forehead – all that attention fixated squarely on Dean, on his pleasure, on the way he’s absolutely unraveling at the feeling of Cas inside him.

“I’ve thought about this,” Cas confesses, breathes into his ear while Dean shakes beneath him. God, so has Dean, more times than he can even keep count of anymore, and _fuck_ , maybe this is what Cas wanted too, maybe Dean will get to have this as often as he desires. Cas keeps talking. “Do you like this, Dean?” It’s somewhere between a sincere question and dirty talk – Cas has always picked up language easily and once he’s heard something in use he turns it around on Dean so fast his head fucking spins. “Do you like it when I fuck you?”

His tone’s still just a little bit stiff and formal and it could be a turn-off but it doesn’t even come close – Cas so earnestly invested in his enjoyment, growling obscenities into his ear because he knows Dean likes it, has Dean’s cock leaking onto his stomach.  He’s too far gone to be too embarrassed to respond, to cry out yeah, _yes_ , but he can’t get actual words past his pleasured gasps. That’s probably answer enough.

“Look at you,” Cas says with reverence, voice so deep it makes Dean’s toes curl, thumbing the corner of Dean’s slack mouth, “This is what you wanted.” It’s not a question, or a tease, just a confident realization. “I love making you feel good,” he adds breathlessly, pressing a gentle kiss to Dean’s throat.

Jesus, they didn’t get nearly so _sappy_ the last time, Dean thinks, blush intensifying, burning hot with an unexpected rush of emotion. He closes his eyes when it gets to be too much, not entirely surprised to feel tears leaking onto his cheeks.

Cas cups his face in a rough palm, thumbing the errant drops away. “Dean, look at me.”

He’s honestly scared to but he can’t resist the gentle command in Cas’s voice, opens his eyes to Cas’s expectant gaze.

“You feel amazing,” Cas tells him, and Dean can’t deny the way the praise sends his pulse racing. “You’re so _beautiful_ ,” Cas says again, and Dean doesn’t even try to argue with him this time, cannot for the life of him form the fucking words.

He was worried it’d freak Cas out that Dean’s in goddamn _tears_ while they’re doing this, but of course Cas just gets it somehow, shushes him gently and holds him tighter, rocks into him steady and sure.

Dean clings to him, hides his face against Cas’s neck. “Cas—” he starts, breaks off with a gasp, “ _Castiel_.” He doesn’t know what makes him say it, if he’s just startlingly aware in this moment that Cas is an unknowable, powerful creature who gave up everything just to _be with him_.

“Dean,” Cas answers, and hearing his name now, hearing the passion and sincerity in it, the tears aren’t being held in check anymore. “You can let go, Dean, it’s alright,” Cas assures him, while Dean chokes back a sob.

Cas’s hand trails from Dean’s cheek and downwards, barely gets a hand around his aching cock before Dean’s fucking _gone_ , moaning nonsense and Cas’s name, coming in long hot streaks between them.

Cas only slows for a moment. Dean can see that he’s close, urges him on with whispered encouragements between the soft little sounds he makes every time Cas pushes forward. Cas comes with a stuttered groan and Dean finds it honest to god breathtaking – to see him taking his pleasure in Dean’s body, to _feel_ him pressing deep and spilling inside him. It makes Dean feel treasured and desired and important in a way he couldn’t articulate if he tried.

Cas sags into Dean, panting against his neck, pressing kisses to Dean’s still-fluttering pulse. Too soon Cas extricates himself and rolls over beside him, and Dean’s floored by the sense of loss that settles in like a lead weight. Dean takes in the picture Cas makes, skin glowing and eyes heavy-lidded, and still _wants_ , licks his lips but says nothing. He misses Cas’s warmth already, the safety of his arms, and _Christ_ if this wasn’t embarrassing enough to begin with.

Cas meets his eyes, levels him with an assessing gaze for a few beats. Finally he says, “Come here,” and Dean moves with over-eager haste into Cas’s embrace, nearly whimpers with relief and contentment when Cas’s fingers come to rest at the base of his neck, delicately massaging their way up to the crown of his head.

It’s so fucking _nice_ , but as the seconds tick by, the familiar shame starts to seep in and he hides his face further in the crook of Cas’s neck, tensing.

There’s no doubt Cas notices. He presses a kiss to the top of Dean’s head and pulls back so he can look Dean in the eye. “Dean,” he says, like he’s cautious about how to proceed, wiping away the drying tear-tracks on Dean’s face.  “It’s okay to want this.”

Dean wants to get his back up, bristle at the way Cas says that like it’s so _easy_ , because really, what the hell does Cas understand about this kind of stuff? He doesn’t know what it’s _like_ , growing up with certain expectations on you, what kind of insidious impact that has. But before Dean can even get properly frustrated about that, it occurs to him that this is exactly why Cas is never going to judge him, isn’t maintaining some bullshit standard of what a man is supposed to be, won’t ever condemn him if he doesn’t measure up to the imaginary ideal. This isn’t anyone else’s business, this is just for him and Cas, and the only one judging Dean here is himself.

It’ll take more than one night to truly unburden himself of all that, but for the moment he can relax fully against Cas’s warm body, swallowing past a lump in his throat. Goddammit, his eyes are starting to prickle again but he fights it, drained for the time being.

“I’m glad you’re here, Cas,” he mumbles against Cas’s skin instead, before he can change his mind, because he can’t let Cas’s words, his kindness and reassurance, just hang there unacknowledged. “So fucking glad you stayed.”

His cheeks burn at the admission. He’s never said it out loud, made his selfish gratitude known. Cas is never shy about how much Dean means to him, and Dean knows Cas doesn’t _need_ to hear it, understands Dean well enough without him saying anything, but he deserves to hear it all the same. Dean’s just not nearly as good at it.

“So am I,” Cas whispers, strained with emotion. Dean can’t see his face right now, but the possibility that Cas isn’t unaffected by this comforts him, makes him feel less alone.

He takes a few steadying breaths, Cas’s strong hands soothing on his back, and drifts off, anything else between them remaining unsaid for the time being.

* * *

Dean could spend hours curled up in bed with Cas the next morning, but a shower is most definitely in order. He unwraps himself from Cas’s warm embrace and rolls away from Cas’s sleeping form with a keen sense of regret. He starts feeling significantly less regretful when Cas wakes up and follows him into the shower stall, naked and gorgeous, water streaming down his smooth skin as he kisses Dean against the tiles.

They spend the first part of the day completely unable to keep their hands to themselves. It’s not even in a playfully insatiable sort of way either – they both just seem to be craving that _connection_ , that intimacy, Cas’s fingers slipping between Dean’s and holding tight.

Dean kisses Cas at every possible opportunity, not even trying to go anywhere with it. Sam’s texts tell him he’ll be back soon and Dean doesn’t even care that there’s no time for anything else. He just wants to be as close as to Cas as he can until the last goddamn second.

They finish a late lunch in the kitchen and share a piece of the pie that Cas picked up for Dean when it was his turn to get groceries. Cas slides his mouth easily against Dean’s between each bite, tasting like apples and cinnamon. Dean hums into it, loving the tease of Cas’s tongue and the scratch of his stubble, chases after him when Cas tries to pull back, earning him a pleased chuckle that puts warmth in his belly.

Dean tries not to flinch when he hears a noise elsewhere in the bunker, signaling Sam’s arrival. He practically has to tear himself away from Cas’s side to greet Sam in the other room so he doesn’t see how close they were sitting, how there’s only one dessert plate between the two of them.

It’s usually enough to last him a while, when Sam’s off on an overnight trip and Dean gets some real time together with Cas, sharing a bed, waking up with him and enjoying his company the way he wants to without any prying eyes. Ordinarily it keeps him from sneaking into Cas’s room at night, at least for a couple of days, too paranoid to risk it and managing to convince himself that it’s not too bad, that he can wait until there’s a less risky opportunity.

Lying in bed alone at the end of the day, even though he’s gone mere hours without touching Cas, it finally catches up to Dean that the ‘usual’ routine might not be cutting it anymore.

Cas likes to text him on nights they can’t stay together – just nonsense or sappy, innocuous sentiments that could probably turn filthy if Dean would let it, if he could bear the temptation. They’re in the ‘nonsense’ phase for a few minutes before Dean’s phone chimes with a text from Cas that says _Lonely without you here :(_

It takes Dean five minutes to work up the nerve to tap out _Yeah me too_ but the signal’s spotty at best, considering their living quarters, and by the third time his message fails to send Dean’s had about enough. He figures it’s the excuse he was looking for to slip out of his room and into Cas’s bed. He’s on his feet and out the door before he even fully realizes what he’s doing, not really checking to see if the coast is clear.

Cas’s room is conveniently close, only a couple of doors down, but Sam rounds the corner in the hallway just as Dean’s near enough to reach for the knob.

They both freeze – Dean out of growing panic, Sam probably out of nothing more than mild surprise at running into Dean at this hour. Dean’s instincts clamor _deny, deny, deny_ , and an excuse is on the tip of his tongue already. He could say he was heading to the kitchen, the bathroom, hell _anywhere_ , really, going in this direction. Or he could just keep on walking silently by but he’s already acting like he’s up to something (if Sam’s increasingly confused look is anything to go by) and shit, if he chickens out now on sneaking into Cas’s room now he’ll have a hell of a time working up the nerve to try again later. He doesn’t want to spend tonight not touching Cas, he— he doesn’t _ever_ want to spend another night without him, or another morning not waking up beside him, and Sam… Sam is not the one who’s standing in the way of that.

Heart pounding, failing to suppress a fierce blush, Dean makes his decision and puts himself out of his goddamn misery. He looks at Sam, who’s on the verge of rolling his eyes at Dean for acting weird, and holds his gaze for a moment. He reaches over and puts his hand on the doorknob. “Night, Sammy,” he mumbles, barely able to look him in the eye for long.

And that’s more or less _official_ , in Dean’s opinion, as out in the open as Dean’s willing to make it himself. Sam’s eyebrows quirk up, mouth twitching in one corner. His expression isn’t shocked, certainly, just carries a sense of _oh, well, that’s that then_ , and Dean suddenly suspects that Sam thinks he’s sparing Dean’s dignity by not letting on how long he’s known. Sam huffs a breath through his nose and replies with, “Night, Dean,” sounding mildly amused.

Dean doesn’t waste any more time making his escape and closing the door behind him. Cas sits up in his bed, looking somewhat caught off guard by the intrusion. “You didn’t answer my text,” he says once he recovers, trying to sound grumpy, but he’s smiling by the time he gets to the end of his sentence, giving away how pleased he is to see Dean.

Laughter bubbles up from Dean’s chest before he can stop it, carries him across the room into Cas’s waiting arms, finally quiets when Dean presses his lips to Cas’s welcoming mouth.

* * *

Sam still takes solo trips sometimes, for the sake of everyone’s comfort and sanity. If the three of them hunt together and Dean’s booking rooms, he asks for two singles – which is still a little embarrassing for him, but the worst he ever gets from the clerk is a look of silent judgment, which is a small price to pay.

He and Cas also start taking on more hunts themselves, to give Sam a bit of a break. It’s a far cry from the last time they did a job alone together, before everything started between them. Dean had been terrified something would _happen_ with the two of them unsupervised in a motel room, but now he’s counting on it – excited to work side by side with Cas, to be able to sink into Cas’s embrace at the end of a long day, Cas’s strong fingers kneading his stiff shoulders.

At home, in the mornings, they wander out of the same room, equally bleary-eyed and bed-headed. Dean pours Cas a cup of coffee and Cas thanks him with a kiss on his cheek, hand warm on the small of his back, right in front of Sam. Dean can’t even get self-conscious about it because it feels so goddamn _nice_.

Sam never _really_ says anything, the way Dean had worried he would, but he lets Dean see his faint smiles, the places where the words, the _It’s about time_ , the _I’m so happy for you_ and so on are supposed to go – the obnoxious, earnest things that Dean might actually want to hear but would never admit to. The things he’d get prickly about and they’d get nowhere. This is better. And Sam knows that, it’s clear now, and Dean’s grateful that decades of navigating Dean’s emotional issues have obviously left Sam more well-equipped than Dean was giving him credit for. He probably knew Dean would react badly to teasing about this, to talking about it before he was ready, might take it out on Cas and retreat even further. He’s certainly got the track record to prove it.

Now Dean gets to go to bed with Cas every night – it’s corny as _hell_ but Dean sleeps so much better next to him – and wake up in a tangle of limbs, Cas’s lips on whatever patch of Dean’s skin he can reach. He gets to go about his day with a sense of security he’s never known before – security in who he is, in what he has, in the knowledge that there are people who care about him.

He has a vague notion that it can’t possibly last. He waits for that uncharitable inner voice to pipe up and remind him that surely some new evil will make its presence known, that at the very least he’s bound to fuck this all up somehow and burst his blissful little bubble. Happiness like this doesn’t stick around for Dean. He’s not sure it’s ever bothered to show up in the first place.

But that voice is unexpectedly quiet, gets closer and closer to complete silence each time Cas smiles at him and squeezes his hand. It’s a funny thing, Dean discovers – it’s so much easier to let go of that doubt, that worry over an uncertain future, when he’s so content with the present. For once, any lingering fear that things will get worse isn’t rooted in pessimism and an ingrained sense of doom. It’s just that he can’t imagine things possibly getting any _better_ than they are now, when he’s feeling calm, grounded, truly fulfilled – when he already has more than he could ever have dared to hope for.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Again, I must say I am so thrilled and overwhelmed by the feedback I've been getting. Thanks so much! Each and every kudos and comment seriously mean the world to me.
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](http://sass-master-stina.tumblr.com) if you want to come say hi! I don't do much aside from linking my own fics because I am terrible at that website.


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